Revelations
by leavinghope
Summary: Mary Morstan receives an unexpected visitor in her office. The ensuing discussion will have a lasting impact on her relationship with John Watson. This is a standalone story; however, it is part of the same universe as "A Study In Women", fitting in between the chapters "The Woman" and "The Assistant".


Dr. Mary Morstan was still working at her desk at St. Barts when the door to her office opened without invitation. This late in the evening, she expected it to be one of the maintenance crew, so she was surprised to see an immaculately dressed gentleman enter the room and close the door behind him.

She cast a quick glance up and down the man, noting the arrogant tilt of his head, the slight smirk on his face, and the expense of his umbrella, and Mary instead decided she was surprised it had taken this long to warrant a visit.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft Holmes nodded approvingly, pleased with her deduction. "I thought it was time we became acquainted, Dr. Morstan."

"And why is that?" Mary did not rise from her chair, nor did she offer Mycroft one.

"Since you know who I am, you must know that I am concerned about the well-being of John Watson. I've always thought of him as, not so much as a brother… " He paused, making sure he was looking directly into Mary's eyes. "Well, as a brother-in-law."

Don't try to mess with the brain of a neuroscientist, Mary thought. She placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on folded hands. "That's good," she replied. "I'd always worried that more people didn't understand the depth of their friendship."

That caused a slight hitch in Mycroft's step towards the empty guest chair. As he sat, he said, "Oh, I can see why John likes you."

At her cocked eyebrow, he continued. "He's always admired intelligence and courage. That's why he and Sherlock work so well together."

"Thank you." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry that he doesn't speak so fondly of you."

"His problems with me are justified, I'm afraid. But he and I both always do what we think is best out of our mutual love for my dear brother." There was sadness in his eyes that Mary perceived as true, and Mycroft seemed to fall prisoner to his own dark thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked after the silence had drawn out to an uncomfortable length.

"Let me be direct. At the beginning of your relationship with John Watson, you both intended to keep things casual. Instead, you're living together."

"I don't really see how that is any of your business."

"Anything that hurts my brother is my business."

Something about this conversation was striking Mary as wrong, even beyond the sheer inappropriateness of the elder Holmes' interference. "I fail to see how John being in a relationship would hurt his best friend."

Mycroft leaned close enough to rest his hands on Mary's desk, careful not to shuffle any of the stacked papers there. "John isn't just Sherlock's best friend, he's his only real friend. The only person who ever accepted Sherlock as he is. Maybe the only true friend my brother ever had." His voice broke slightly over his last few words.

Surprising herself, Mary leaned over and covered Mycroft's hands with her own. "Nothing that has happened, not our relationship… nothing has caused John's affection for Sherlock to waver, not even for a second." She shook her head. "I'm really not sure why this is such a problem right now."

Mycroft straightened in his seat, gently withdrawing his hands from Mary's. "I believe the original plan was for you to return to the States when your stay at St. Barts is over. If you cut short your stay in England and end your relationship with John Watson, I will ensure that there is a promotion for you when you return to the Veteran's Administration."

Mary laughed. "Really, you can do that?"

Mycroft appeared affronted. "Of course. If that isn't incentive enough, I can make sure there is a position for you to continue your research at any of the top facilities in the States. With your qualifications, I surely can do better for you than a visiting lecturer position at St. Barts."

"John refers to you as a minor official in the British government. Sherlock alleged you were the British government." Mary leaned back in her chair. "I guess the truth is somewhere in between."

A very thin false smile appeared on Mycroft's face. "I assure you, Dr. Morstan, my power in the British government is enough that I can achieve whatever goals I wish."

An equally false smile showed up on Mary's face. "It is a good thing that people like me have not been intimidated by powerful men in the British government for about two hundred years," she said, clearly enunciating each word with her American accent.

The two engaged in a staring contest for a few minutes, then Mycroft stood. "You are a good match for John, but not as good as he is for my brother."

Mary stood as well. "I'll try to take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as such." He looked directly at her, reading her decision on her face. "So, there is no deal?"

"No deal, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft tilted his head in acknowledgment and walked to the door. As he reached for the handle, Mary finally realized what was troubling her about the visit. "Wait, please."

He turned to her.

She took a deep breath, feeling shaken for the first time during this discussion. "Do you realize that you have been speaking about Sherlock in the present tense?"

And this time, Mycroft's smile was still smug, but not false. "You'll tell John _all_ about this conversation, won't you?"

He closed the door behind him as Mary slowly sank back onto her chair.

* * *

Mary entered the flat she shared with John to find him curled up on their couch with his laptop. He'd already changed out of his work clothes and seemed ready to stay in for the rest of the evening. As she deposited her briefcase on the floor and took off her coat, she pondered what exactly to say to him.

"Hello, love."

She smiled at the affection in his voice and walked over to place a kiss on his forehead before sitting next to him on the couch. As she toed off her clogs, she said, "Hello, sweetie. How was your day?"

"Oh, the usual. Too many kids with too many colds. Yours?"

She nestled deeper into the sofa cushions, and then John placed his legs on her lap. "Busy. Taught my occupational therapy class. I wanted to get tomorrow's seminar prepped, which is why I'm late coming home."

"You can make it up to me by rubbing my feet?"

The hopeful tone of John's voice was incredibly endearing. Mary had learned long ago that John loved to have his feet rubbed, and she found the repetitive motion and his obvious appreciation to be a very pleasant way to wind down after a long day.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Oh, just some old case notes." John sounded a little chagrined. Mary knew that he was still working on writing up all of Sherlock's cases. John himself had been cleared, and he and friends at New Scotland Yard had exonerated Sherlock on most cases, but Mycroft was blocking release of any information about cases dealing with Moriarty. The detective's legacy and exoneration were still priorities for John, and the slow progress nagged at him.

Mary started working on the muscles of John's calves and reveled in the peace of the evening. She had entered her relationship with John with few expectations. She knew that their relationship worked because both recognized what they needed from the other: understanding and acceptance. A physical connection was there, but it was the friendship that surprised and pleased her the most. The contentment that she felt with John was more than she had expected to find at this point in her life. It wasn't the wild passion of one-night stands or the starry-eyed notions of love from her youth. It was gentle and kind, like John.

She kept reviewing the conversation with Mycroft Holmes in her mind. She was sure that he was implying that Sherlock was alive. She glanced at John, who was pecking away at his keyboard. John had spent the first year after Sherlock's fall hoping that it had been faked and that Sherlock would contact him. It was a painful decision for John to move on and accept his best friend's death. In the time that she had been with John, there were several instances that pointed to the possibility that Sherlock was still alive. None had come to fruition. She knew that Mycroft wanted her to tell John about their conversation, but what if this was one of Mycroft's manipulations? She knew from John's tales that Mycroft could be devious and ruthless. After all that John had been through, she did not want to give him false hope.

And yet, what if it wasn't false?

As Mary continued to massage John's legs, she ventured a gentle query. "I suppose I'm different to live with than Sherlock."

A quiet chuckle. "Yeah."

"If he'd been alive, if you'd still been roommates when we started dating, do you think we'd be living together now?"

John looked up from his laptop and asked, "What brings this on?"

"Humor me."

He focused his deep blue eyes directly on hers and said, "I don't know."

She smiled. One of the many things she loved about John was his honesty.

"Would we have had a second date?"

"God, I hope so."

"If he texted during a date, would you answer him?"

"Yes."

The certainty of his answer sounded like it came from experience, she thought. "He would actually text during your dates?"

John rolled his eyes. "Inevitably and often."

"What if we were in bed, would you pick up the phone?"

Silence.

"Oh, John, really?"

John sighed and put the laptop on the side table.

"How about our wedding night?" Mary knew that John had been thinking of proposing. She didn't know if it was right for them, but she was flattered by his consideration.

"I'd probably recruit Mrs. Hudson to keep him busy at the flat or ask Lestrade to give him a nice serial killer case." John had the grace to look embarrassed.

Mary grinned at his discomfort. "Because you'd need to make certain that he didn't text, because if he did…"

"I'd pick up the phone."

She tickled the bottom of his right foot as punishment, but her voice was full of affection as she asked, "Explain this to me, would you? Explain him?"

He looked at the ceiling, and then said, "It is impossible to explain how extraordinary he is, was, to someone who never experienced him in person. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, and so fucking alive. He could harness his manic energy into such tight focus when working on a case." John took a deep breath. "And when that focus was on me, it brought me to life. He became like food or air to me."

He sat quietly for a few moments, lost in his thoughts, and Mary continued to rub his feet and calves, as soothingly as she could.

John continued. "And you know what? He needed me, too. He really did. He needed me to ground him when he flew too high, and he lifted me up with him before I spiraled too low. I needed him. I need him." He rubbed his face. "And he needed me, but I wasn't enough." John sat in silence, clutching Mary's hand.

Mary finally understood everything that Mycroft was implying, just what John meant to his brother. "Oh, sweetie, you were essential to him."

He just shook his head at her. Cautiously, she asked one more question.

"If that miracle that you wished for actually occurred, if Sherlock turned up alive today, what would you do?"

A slight hesitation. "I'd be torn in two."

That hesitation told Mary everything she needed to know. She knew from previous conversations with John and others that he and Sherlock had a special relationship. She knew that it was platonic, despite what the media continued to allege. But she also understood that it went beyond the traditional definition of friendship. The English language did not have a term for the bond between John and Sherlock, and, neuroscientist that she was, she despised the term _soulmate_. But for lack of a better term, John and Sherlock _were_ soulmates. And if John could choose to be with his soulmate instead of Mary, why wouldn't he?

Why shouldn't he?

Mary inhaled deeply. Her voice steady and strong, she said, "John, I need to tell you about a visitor that came to my office this evening."


End file.
